middaeg | march catch-all!

Entry tags:

march catch-all!

Who: Sasuke Uchiha and YOU
When: March
Where: Various locations about the city and possibly beyond
What: March catch-all!
Warnings: Mentions of blood and violence.

[ Full Moon ]

[ There’s no explicit reason why Sasuke Uchiha of all people is sitting in a bar on the night of the full moon. Maybe he just wanted a distraction from the way his insides seem to be constricting around themselves. Maybe he wanted to get away from the particular type of cloying, insincere sort of teasing that his roommate Jack loves to plague him with. Either way, all roads lead to him sipping water at the bar-top, flashing the bartender an almost warning look when he approaches with a glass of something decidedly stronger.

"It’s a gift from the–" ] Don’t. Set it down if you have to, but I don’t want details.

[ He’s in too poor a mood thanks to his physical condition to be overly grateful, something he already wouldn’t manage on a good day. Instead he turns to the person next to him, pushing that glass along towards them. ]

Here. You take it. [ Please. Get hammered in solidarity. ]

[ Echolocation ]

[ There’s a voice you’ll hear from nearby. Deep. Emotionless. And yet somehow? Critical. It’s hard to tell at first where it comes from, though it seems close to ear-level in spite of no humans speaking in that tone in the general vicinity. And whatever it is you’re doing, it’s critiquing.

Perhaps you’re selecting a shirt at a clothes store, holding it up for inspection. Then you’ll hear: ] That color doesn’t suit you, and neither does the cut.

[ Maybe you’re studying magic after class, in which case there’ll be a distinct: ] You’ve been on that page for a while. Surprising.

[ Or maybe you’re doing any of your other normal daily activities when that voice decides to comment unnecessarily, and upon close enough inspection you just might find out where it’s coming from. Perched on a shelf, a desk, a rooftop shingle, or elsewhere, is a tiny, one-winged bat. And it has an attitude. ]

[ Wildcard ]

[ WILDCARD, please hit me up at

pyrrhic or on discord at pyrrhicbattles#0508 if you want to plan anything unique! I’m happy to write specific starters and would love new and old cr both! ]

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ Brown eyes slide from bat to teen and back again. Without any real intent, he considers what would happen if they put the bat inside the jar. The ensuing insect massacre would be amazing to watch. Too bad Jonas would never agree to it. Maybe when the Witch goes to work… ]

What’re you apologizing for? It’s – [ a snort, which he unsuccessfully tries to stifle ] – obviously bugging you. Why does the bat look like its judging me for that one? Anyway, if you need time then you need time. It’s as simple as that, dude. But if you want me to play ref like you did for us, just let me know. I’ll probably throw the game so that you win, though. As a heads up.

[ He’s kidding. Mostly. ]

[ What this bat does not do: finish his fly.

What this bat does do: chirp at Stiles for another victim anyway. It is becoming quickly clear to him that his hunger isn't being sated by the bodies of his victims. Rather, it's slowly being chipped away at by their blood.

And these two are drained. Just like he will be when he has to reflect on all of this with a clear head later. ]

No, we should be fine if he decides he's cool with it too. All that's left is for me to contact him, decide where to go from there. When all the dust's settled I can stop talking so vaguely about it with you. It feels gross to do. (glad for stiles' impartiality, wondering if sasuke'll be willing to accept him in turn.

leaving him that day is still something he regrets, a fearful, knee-jerk reaction. is his hand alright? did he find someone to heal it for him? if he could just see him, he'd know for certain.

sighs, deciding to leave it alone for now.)

That was a terrible joke, by the way, so there's a high probability he is... I mean, look at him. (pauses, double-taking with a raise of his eyebrows. what the holy shit.) God, look at them. Jesus, it's just sucking on them. Is that a species thing?

[ Nails lightly scraping along the inside of the jar, Stiles retrieves a particularly corpulent grub. It wiggles weakly between his fingers, already half-dead from its imprisonment. He places it on the towel before the bat, this time with less wariness – it doesn’t seem interested in attacking him anymore, at least. ]

Dude, don’t worry about me. [ The reassurance is said distractedly as Stiles picks up the remains of the fly, suspiciously examining it. ] I’m a big boy. I don’t need to be involved in everything that goes on with you two. I mean, don’t get me wrong – I’m curious. But…

[ Suddenly struck by a thought, he bisects the fly with a nail. ]

…Jonas. It drained the blood.

[ The grub is the next victim, weak and unable to fight back, and that small leathery wing extends and flaps again to show either aggression or gratitude. It's hard to tell. What's easy to notice is the fact that he seems to be getting his energy back far more effectively from this slaughter than he did even from Jonas's healing magic. With each swallow his head begins to clear more and more, picking up on fully recognizable sentences from equally recognizable people...

And yet when that fly is cut in half in front of him, grub drained and deceased, he can't resist it. He scurries close, sniffing very noticeably at the towel into which its blood has soaked rather than at the corpse itself. Only after he realizes the futility in trying to obtain it from that source does he latch onto one half of the body, the next best thing. ]

... buuut...?

(stiles' trailing confuses him, and over something seemingly insignificant. jonas processes for a moment, taking his time as peewee raises his wing to demonstrate his new lease on life, before coming to an entirely different realization:) Uh, dude, maybe he's just a vampire bat? Zelda would know more, right?

So if we call her–

(it drained the blood.

just a vampire bat.)

Wait, what?

...

No fucking way it isn't!

I knew it was weird that it only had one developed wing, [ Stiles remarks, tone absurdly fond in spite of the implications. ] No wonder he took to you so fast. It’s almost cute.

[ Stiles plucks two moths from the jar, their wings beating dust into his finger pads, and offers them by hand to the bat he can only assume must be Sasuke. If given the chance, he’ll dare to try and gently rub that furred head. ]

Dude! You tried to adopt Sasuke and name him Peewee! [ A hysterical cackle. ] Oh god, this is amazing. We should find him something with more blood, though. It can’t be a good sign that you found him like this.

[ The timing of the realization is apt.

What blood he's gotten back into his system is minuscule but nevertheless enough to circulate through a tiny body, warming it enough to hasten his movements over to the pair of proffered moths. It's instinct... just as the wing that lifts to knock against Stiles's hand when it drifts too close is instinct. One flap. Two flaps. Then a smack. A distinct sound of skin hitting skin, with chilled pale fingers wrapping around the other teen's wrist where once there was little more than a weak webbed appendage. Knees are planted in the limited space between the other two to replace tiny feet, and the worst-case scenario is immediately proven to be true.

He is completely naked.

Bruised dark eyes meet Stiles's while Jonas is presented with a scarred back, well-muscled body littered with evidence of past cuts and punctures. The most prominent – save for the still slightly reddened, angry-looking scarring where his arm was severed halfway between shoulder and elbow – are old stab wounds: a pair in his abdomen, one in his left thigh, one equidistant from his left shoulder and neck, and all marked by thick white scar tissue. Not that he stays still in the same position long enough to allow a thorough examination, entirely shameless in how he's suddenly moving to stand and step free of the other two huddled on the floor.

That blood may have been sufficient for a bat, but as a human his head is aching and his feet drag on their way to the sink, spitting a dead moth from his mouth along the way. He flicks on the tap, back to them both when he splashes his face with water before cupping enough in his hand for a hurried drink, then another. That thirst doesn't seem quenchable but after a few long seconds he's finally twisting the water back off, taking deep breaths to ground himself as all his thoughts rearrange themselves back into something understandable and human. ]

... clothes. [ Please. ]

(jonas can barely hear stiles over the small crisis he's having in his head, unprepared to divulge to sasuke what's been on his mind let alone accept the fact that he's been baby-talking the man for the past hour. overwhelmed, embarrassed, and suddenly feeling incredibly shy, he makes to get up. then immediately slams back to the floor, shouting in alarm.

where peewee was, sasuke is. every bare inch of him, pale and imperfect. jonas can't keep his mouth or his eyes shut, unable to look away or talk to either of them through the shock that forces him back against kitchen cabinets with a dull thud. how much his friend's heard is uncertain, but at the moment it's hardly at the forefront of his mind. stare roving with a will of its own, the sheer amount of scar tissue is practically burned into memory. marks of battle, betrayal, and hard work. there was never any doubt that his body would reflect peak physical fitness, though he never anticipated this—additionally, to expect something specific would mean he's pictured it before. he can't admit that to himself, blessedly missing his chance to. just as quickly as the old and new wounds were presented to him, they rise out of view. replaced by ass.

if he looks away, he'll have to face stiles. if he doesn't, he'll be watching strong thighs flex as sasuke stands and walks to the sink. lose-lose.

win-win, an unhelpful voice at the back of his mind that spooks him into his third option: slapping both hands over a hot face, rolling onto a hip to turn bodily from the sight. jonas has never stood up so quickly in his life, humiliated by his own strong reaction to both stiles' raucous teasing and broad, weathered shoulders curving away from them, reaching for his own zip-up to wrestle it off of his arms with a frustrated shake in his fingers.)

You. Shut up. (pointing menacingly—harmlessly, awkwardly—at stiles, effect lost when his cheeks look freshly ironed. by the time the sweater's tossed onto the counter, his voice can already be heard from the living room.) Take it, I'll– I'm going to get more!

[ While Stiles, amused and playful, may have arrived at the correct conjecture regarding their houseguest, he is no better prepared than Jonas for when Sasuke transforms back. One moment, he’s inwardly bemoaning the fact that even as a three-inch tall bat, Sasuke is rebuffing physical contact from him. The next, he’s staring down at where said bat was, which means he gets an eyeful of sculpted thighs and uncircumcised dick. His brain flatlines helpfully. Sure, Stiles has seen other men’s penises before – glimpses in the locker room; Scott’s from accidentally walking in on his best friend changing; Liam’s during full moon shenanigans; in porn; etc. But he’s never had an up-close, unobstructed view in person. Like any objective, science-minded opportunist, Stiles doesn’t waste the small window of time he’s been granted. For comparative research, of course.

In that brief moment where Sasuke remains kneeling before him, brown eyes take a greedy fill without consent. They study soft foreskin pulled over the glans, trace the faint outline of superficial veins, visually comb through the neat, dark tangle of pubic hair – up through the funnel of a distinct iliac furrow, over the hard planes of an abdomen punctuated by ropes of ridged tissue, along a sternum flanked by impressive pectorals, up. Stiles meets Sasuke’s eyes briefly, those black irises like an overcast night sky in a too pale countenance, and then the Vampire stands, movements lacking their usual easy grace. The blatant asymmetry of his battle-worn body draws Stiles’ gaze to the left arm stump, much shorter than previously envisioned, scarring so severe that his shoulder throbs in sympathy. Even as Sasuke rudely spits out a moth onto their kitchen floor, Stiles continues to unblinkingly stare at him. His regard isn’t impersonal; like all things that attract his focus, he examines Sasuke’s naked form with a bright albeit sharp fascination, as shameless in his scrutiny as Sasuke is in his nudity.

It’s only when Jonas, face inflamed, tells him to shut up that he finally snaps free of his silent reverie. Brain still rebooting, he twists at the waist to see where the Witch is going but Jonas has fled so quickly that he only hears the young man’s disembodied voice from another room. Leaving him alone with Sasuke. His thoughts are oddly quiet as he rises, placing the jar on the counter and absently kicking the dirtied dishtowel to a corner for later disposal. ]

Hey. [ Stiles keeps his voice low, an attempt to soothe though he’s not sure why. ] Jonas is getting you some more clothes. Anything you need me to do?

[ Ultimately, there’s so little he can do; Sasuke looks sorely in need of blood, which they don’t have in supply. Stupid. Maybe they could look into freezing some for emergencies like this. ]

…I can make a run to the blood bank, [ he offers. ]

[ He remains hunched over the counter, shoulders curved towards the sink as his forearm braces itself against the corner and one leg bends ever-so-slightly to allow him to lean more of his weight against something sturdier. Something more stable than he himself is in this moment. He hasn't felt the intrusiveness of Stiles's gaze or the reluctant curiosity of Jonas's, only aware that the pair of brown eyes he'd met were first directed down at the rest of him. His own close as a unique sense of humiliation starts to set in, not for a body he's emotionally detached from being potentially judged by others his age, but over the lack of control on his part that led to this situation in the first place. ]

Don't. It needs to be fresh.

[ The vampire bars? He can only assume the blood is taken from slowly drained hosts minutes before it's served, a thought which simultaneous makes his stomach clench with hunger and makes it turn. ]

I have food at home; I can walk. [ He ate a bug. Several bugs. Stiles had... he had an entire jar of them, the jar that's on the counter, upstairs in his room. Sasuke makes no attempt to reach for that jacket yet, seeing little need when the damage is done and when his more sensitive parts will still be very much on display. ]

(he finds himself on auto-pilot the moment he's alone, sweeping into his room with a purpose to distract himself from everything downstairs. the time away and the transformation are relocated, forced to make room for mild worry that makes hands slap quickly at his dresser.

jonas grabs for clothes he'd genuinely care to lose, comfortable ones he likes and thinks might benefit sasuke in broad daylight, mindfully matching them as he goes. they aren't the old, battered ones that've survived the past couple of months, they're laundered and suitable for the situation: a pair of dark pants that cuff at the ankle; a t-shirt with a weathered band logo he's worn countless times beneath his hoodie; and—after he works himself up to grabbing for a pair—simple boxers he stuffs beneath his arm with the rest.

socks are fisted up as an afterthought before he makes haste for the kitchen.)

... am I... good to come in? I brought everything. (the clothing makes an appearance first, holding it up in the doorway with two awkward arms visible by its frame. the top half of his body leans into view after them, sidling in with a stare forward. his mother taught him manners, pointedly refusing to acknowledge the nudity.) I don't know if it'll fit, or whatever. So, like, if you need to swap something out...

(glancing over to stiles who lingers with the bug jar, vaguely curious about the lull in conversation—if there'd been any, jonas rummaging too loudly to hear—but not wasting any time in sorting sasuke's items out on the counter. in order, underwear on the very top of the pile.)

Did Stiles tell you you could stay here till dark? (lowers his voice to ask his friend at a whisper:) Did you? You can, if you want.

Edited 2020-03-31 00:08 (UTC)

[ Since hearing the answer to his offer, Stiles has been stewing silently in a blend of frustration and concern. Sasuke probably isn’t going to listen to a damn thing he says, the knowledge of which reminds Stiles of how helpless he always is in these situations. From losing a mother too soon to only having a single friend for the majority of his life, he’s fiercely overprotective of those he considers a loved one. And that’s the crux of the problem: Somehow, he’s come to actually like this stupid, miserable bastard – this asshole who thinks the next best step is to walk home in broad daylight as an unturned Vampire while obviously in an already weakened state.

Jonas’ reemergence is met with exasperated hands thrown into the air, Stiles struggling to contain his agitation. ]

He wants to walk home, [ he informs Jonas, tone making clear what he thinks of that. ] Sasuke, just stick around for an hour. One of us can…can swing by the pet store or something, pick you up takeout. Going home like this is stupid.

[ Hearing Jonas's footsteps causes those shoulders to hike just a bit higher, a quiet tension he works to disperse before he so much as hears his voice. He glances back just in time to catch sight of clothes being waved by a body out of frame, fighting impressively against the wrinkle of his nose at the behavior. Perhaps their world is just that much more prudish and reserved... strange.

Still, with that problem identified he swallows any dismissive comments in favor of snatching up those boxers when they're presented at the top of the pile, one-handedly easing them up around his waist with his dick tucked back safely within their confines. There. Decent. ]

I wouldn't be saying it if I didn't think I could handle it. Staying here isn't something that I want to do, with or without a "pet" to eat. [ A comment that would normally sound authoritative and biting, but right now it just sounds... tired. He promised Jonas space, and willingly or unwillingly he failed in that promise. The rest of the details don't matter as much, or so he tells himself as he grabs that band t-shirt and starts to drag it over his head with quick jerks of that single arm. ]

I owe you for your help.

(fishing for one of stiles' hands to drag it down out of the air, jonas then relocates the solid touch to the back of his shoulder. stays close as sasuke dresses himself, a warm bid for him to calm down... even if it's not a position any of them want to be in right now. shooing him would be gutless. he'd rather the man stay, too, but he'd be lying if he said it didn't make him feel strange.

why, then, does he feel guilty for it?)

I think that means, "No, but thanks for the offer." (an aside to stiles, wanting to commiserate.) We'd really rather you didn't go out in this. But... it's alright, we'll just... make sure you take an umbrella or something with you.

(that held high over vulnerable skin hidden beneath those clothes might make it bearable enough to get back, and he's not sure how badly the sun affects him.)

[ The comforting weight of that hand on his left shoulder settles the cage of flightless birds flitting restlessly within his chest. Both shoulders heave as he sighs loudly, exorcising as much negative energy as possible through the noise. Sasuke has made his decision; instead of remaining bitter about it, he should do what he can to make the journey easier. Leaning into Jonas’ side, he gently bumps the Witch with an elbow, trying to express his gratefulness for the wordless intervention. ]

I’ve got a pair of boots by the front door you can use. Take them and the umbrella.

[ As he watches Sasuke dress, it occurs to him how well the man handles such a task despite the handicap. The scarring makes it abundantly clear that the missing limb wasn’t a birth defect, just as Stiles had previously theorized. But he hadn’t thought to find evidence that the loss was so recent – the angry, irritated skin seems to indicate the injury was relatively recent. If that’s true…

Stiles recalls the terrifying accuracy with which Sasuke had wielded his weapons against him during the expedition, all from his non-dominant hand. Jesus Christ. ]

[ With the shirt shimmied into and straightened down over his body with a last tug, he's free to turn his attention to the pants... but something causes his movements to slow. Jonas twines his hand with Stiles's even if just for a moment, redirecting physically displayed agitation with an equally physical gesture before offering him a warm touch to the shoulder.

Almost as interesting is the way that Stiles reacts, too, no shrug of that hand away from him despite his elevated levels of frustration. It's the opposite: almost instantly he deflates, like Jonas had just sapped him of his will to argue with one simple touch. It makes him feel a strange sense of gratitude towards each of them for one another. Jonas needs someone; Stiles needs someone. It equally makes him feel like a voyeur.

The pants take longer to maneuver and aren't a perfect fit but they're closer than expected, just one more thing to avoid saying "thank you" for. ]

I don't need the umbrella yet; my skin isn't that sensitive. [ ... ] But I'll take it along. Keep the jacket here.

(jonas is less inclined to watch him dress. he learned to keep his eyes to himself in the detention centre, and when someone has something noticeable going on with their appearance it's best not to let it draw the eye. he only looks back over to catch the last tug at the waistband of his loaner pants.

straightens a fraction at sasuke's agreement, leaning away from stiles to take back his zip-up.)

... right, well, I've got some more classwork to do before tomorrow. We're copying major runes, which may sound like calligraphy becaaause it is. Careful walking back... okay, man? (speaking directly to him is more distressing than he thought, his throat constricting with a familiar urge to cry guiltily.

pushing away from the cupboards, he's intent on slipping away. he tries for casual, but it falls a bit short.)

Stiles, you cool to see him out? I'll talk to you guys later.

[ Sufficiently appeased by Sasuke’s agreement to take along the umbrella – he’s learning – the last of his combative energy dissipates. This is a compromise he appreciates; after all, it must be fairly irritating for someone with only one available hand to carry an umbrella they don’t intend to use. With that matter settled, Stiles allows his gaze to cut away from Sasuke, this time turning it on Jonas. ]

…Sure, dude. No problem. Hey, I’ll take care of lunch and let you know when it’s ready, okay?

[ An awkward situation all around, but not one he blames either of them for. He sincerely wishes he understood the context behind his friend’s discomfort with Sasuke, especially when it doesn’t seem that the sentiment is mutual. Weird. While he hopes they resolve the issue themselves, Stiles isn’t above playing interference to make certain they make up. Jonas has become a best friend. Sasuke has, amazingly, become something almost as important. He needs them both, together. Another week or so, then Stiles will decide if it’s necessary to get involved. ]

[ Thank you for acknowledging the struggle.

Sasuke watches them interact with that same uneasiness that spurs him to want to make his exit sooner, not only wanting to extricate himself from the situation in order to avoid the discomfort but also to bring a little peace back into this home. Jonas's jokes and kind words come back to him as his memories return with clarity... and it makes the abrupt shift that much more intolerable. He needs to remove himself from this, quickly. ]

Study well, [ he offers back, half as an acknowledgement and half as a genuine well wish. Only then does his attention shift to Stiles, meeting his eyes before he's heading for the door and the promised boots. ]

[ Floorboards above creak in a now familiar pattern, signaling that Jonas has retreated to his bedroom. Not unlike Sasuke, Stiles finds his thoughts gravitating toward the hard-won sense of domesticity present in this house, their reluctant home away from home. Unlike Sasuke, he doesn’t find the Vampire’s presence obtrusive in their space; there’s only an agitated need to help smooth over whatever has caused this rift between his friends – this found family. Withholding a melancholy sigh, he trails after Sasuke toward the front door. ]

I know you want to take off, so I won’t keep you. But…

[ A shoulder is set against the door as he leans into it. Though he tries to pass the move off as nonchalant, it’s a blatant method of preventing Sasuke from leaving immediately. ]

What happened? [ Realizing how the question could be misconstrued, he shakes his head and rephrases it. ] The bat thing, I mean. I’m guessing it was a result of the full moon? Has it happened before?

[ He clocks his surroundings with conscious internal assessments. The weight of Jonas's steps, what that implies about his gait, his mood, his health. The furrows in smooth leather as his fingers pinch at the tongue of one boot, soft and pliable enough to avoid cracking. Awareness of his situation turns him into a spectator, and a spectator can remove himself from emotions that aren't beneficial. He doesn't have to dwell on how exposed a man in his situation might feel or how anger might leap into his throat when he's caged back away from his escape.

The face pointed upward at Stiles before he straightens up is unreadable. ]

It hasn't. I misjudged my strength after I let myself be weakened... That's all there is to say about it. I know how to better avoid it in the future.

You can get the umbrella if you didn't just say that for his benefit.

[ The answer seems like a clear “none of your business” to Stiles, who resigns himself to researching the issue alone later. He can take a hint. Pushing away from the door, he crosses the hall to a coatrack. It takes a moment of digging through the jackets to find an umbrella, navy in color with cartoonish frog faces, which he then makes sure is properly secured closed. ]

Here. [ The umbrella is offered, his expression pinched unhappily. ] And it wasn’t for his benefit.

[ It was only for his own, an attempt to understand the situation in order to help prevent it from happening again. Maybe it’s too much to expect Sasuke to realize that. ]

Take care, dude.

(no subject)

eyeforaneye - 2020-04-05 03:07 (UTC) - Expand

(no subject)

mensrea - 2020-04-05 03:47 (UTC) - Expand

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

march catch-all!

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

1/3

2/3

3/3

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

(no subject)

(no subject)